Journeys With Strider
by Feagalad
Summary: '"I'm being eaten alive!" Pippin's voice rang out over the marshes. "What do these things eat when they can't get 'obbit?" Sam grumbled, attempting to lead the pony around a particularly boggy spot.' A little more in-depth look at what happened in those three weeks while Strider and the four hobbits were travelling to Rivendell.
1. Bree to Midgewater

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_No, I don't own nor am I affiliated with the Tolkien Estate._

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><p>"I'm being eaten alive!" Pippin's voice rang out over the marshes.<p>

"What do these things eat when they can't get 'obbit?" Sam grumbled, attempting to lead the pony around a particularly boggy spot.

Merry and Frodo trudged behind, looking miserable. They had been in the marshes for several days. Strider was walking ahead, scouting for the driest path. He turned and surveyed the little group. They looked nothing like the nervous, but merry band he had met in Bree. They were muddy and weary. And to make matters worse: all were covered in itchy insect bites. "Just a bit further," said Strider. "We need to get a fire going."

"Will it keep the Neekerbreekers away?" asked Sam.

Strider looked at him with a hint of a smile. "Neekerbreekers?"

"You know, them nasty little critters that whine in the marsh all night."

Strider chuckled. "I'm afraid they are not deterred by fire, but it will help with the midges and mosquitoes."

"Ugh, I hope so. There must be a million of the little bugs squashed on me and in my hair."

Merry ruffled Pippin's hair, "There, cousin. Some of the pests taken care of, at least."

Frodo shook his head. "I do believe that the midges have taken an especial liking to Pippin, but I don't see what great enjoyment they find in his head. Always seemed rather thick to me. Especially whenever he is told not to do something. I wonder why the midges like him?"

Pippin grinned, the impish gleam returning to his eyes. "It's because I am young and not old and decrepit. Not of course that anyone here is old." He rolled his eyes upwards as he spoke the last sentence, so that it was clear what he was implying.

His reward? Being hit in the face with well-aimed balls of grass from his cousins.

Strider sighed and turned to Sam "Are they always like this?"

"Oh no, sir. Usually they are much worse. It's just that the mud keeps Mr. Pippin safe from being tackled." For a minute, Sam seemed to forget his mistrust of the Ranger and spoke to him freely. The three gentlehobbits stopped quarrelling and the party resumed walking.

That night, Strider kept watch while the hobbits slept. He sat by the fire, smoking. Suddenly a flash of light made him jump to his feet. The light came and faded many times. "What is the light?" Strider started and looked towards the hobbits. Frodo was standing, looking at the lights. His big, brown eyes reflected the glow.

"I do not know." Strider answered. "It is too distant to make out. It is like lightning that leaps up from the hill-tops."

Frodo nodded and lay down again. Strider stood for a while, watching the lights. They lasted for several hours before dying away.

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><p>The next day they came to the end of the Midgewater Marshes. The land before them began to steadily rise. Eastward, in the distance was a line of hills. Strider pointed to one that was slightly separate from the others. "That is Weathertop," he said. "The Old Road, which we have left far away on our right, runs to the south of it and passes not far from it's foot. We might reach it by noon tomorrow, if we go straight towards it. I suppose we had better do so."<p>

"What do you mean?" Asked Frodo.

"I mean: when we do get there, it is not certain what we shall find. It is close to the Road."

"But surely we were hoping to find Gandalf there?"

"Yes; but the hope is faint. If he comes this way at all, he may not pass through Bree, and so he may not know what we are doing. And anyway, unless by luck we arrive almost together, we shall miss one another; it will not be safe for him or for us to wait there long. If the Riders fail to find us in the wilderness, they are likely to make for Weathertop themselves. It commands a wide view all round. Indeed, there are many birds and beasts in this country that could see us, as we stand ere from that hilltop. Not all the birds are to be trusted and there are other spies more evil than they are."

Sam shivered and looked up at the sky. "You do make me feel uncomfortable and lonesome, Strider."

"Indeed, Sam. I keep getting the shivers myself. "Frodo wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself. "I think it almost makes it worse not knowing where the Riders are."

Pippin, who could never remain silent for long, piped up. "It is like knowing there is a bee in the room, but not knowing exactly where."

Strider, who looked slightly amused at this analogy, smiled. "We have stood here long enough. We might make Weathertop even sooner if we do not stop for lunch today."

This suggestion was greeted, as he had expected, by a groan from the hobbits. He had struggled to teach them about rationing from the first day out of Bree. Pippin especially fought the idea of missing certain meals at every turn. Though he teased Frodo unmercifully about how it was probably good for him, Pippin clearly had difficulties applying that same logic to himself. Now Pippin was looking at Frodo calculatingly.

"I must say, Frodo. You are looking twice the hobbit you were."

"Very strange." Frodo replied, teasing right back as he tightened his belt. "Especially since there is considerably less of me. I hope the thinning process will not go on indefinitely, or I shall become a wraith."

"Don't speak of such things!" Strider resisted the urge to cringe. Clearly Frodo did not understand of what he was jesting!

Pippin, undaunted went on. "I don't know, Frodo. Didn't you complain about feeling like a snail? I should think that it is easier to carry your pack now."

Merry rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Pip for that enlightening comment. Don't make me remind you that Frodo is no heavier than you, so stop bothering him."

Pippin just stuck his tongue out, before digging out a dried apple slice to chew on.

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><p>They plodded along, each hour the hills loomed closer. Early on the second day, they found a track, leading more or less in the direction of Weathertop. Pippin and Merry were very curious an enquired about the hill. Merry expressed his opinion that it looked rather like a Barrow. "A barrow-wightish look" was his words. Strider suppressed a shudder, it seemed that his charges had encountered one of those dreaded creatures. When questioned Merry said that they had gotten their swords from the wight's hoard, but that as to what had really happened, he would have to ask Frodo. And Frodo, who had gone rather quiet at the mention of the creature, didn't offer any information. He went quite pale and Strider didn't think it was wise to press him.<p>

The signs Strider read on the summit of Weathertop disturbed him greatly. A scrap of black fabric, caught between two stones warned him that Gandalf had not only been attacked, but that he had been attacked by the Wraiths. He had hidden this fear from Frodo and Merry. Perhaps Gandalf had drawn the Nazgul off. But the fresh tracks he found at the spring destroyed his hope of that. He did his best to hide his alarm from the hobbits. They were already horribly afraid. He did not need to frighten them more.

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	2. Midgewater to Weathertop

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><p>Strider lifted Frodo's limp form, wincing at the coldness of the hobbit's left shoulder, and laid him by the fire. "Merry! Keep watch. Sam, build up the fire and heat water. Make sure you keep Frodo warm."<p>

Strider turned and slipped into the shadows. He walked to and fro, searching for traces of the Riders. But nowhere could their evil presence be felt. As he re-entered the camp, Sam drew his sword and looked as though he was ready to run anyone through that came near Frodo. Merry looked suspiciously at Strider as he knelt down. Strider tried to placate the hobbits' fears.

"I am not a Black Rider, Sam, nor in league with them. I have been trying to discover something of their movements; but I have found nothing. I cannot think why they have gone and do not attack again. But there is no feeling of their presence anywhere near at hand."

"But Strider," Pippin interrupted. "Something is wrong with Frodo's shoulder."

Strider noticed that Frodo was awake, eyes huge in his pale face. He was clearly in some sort of pain. "Frodo, tell me what happened."

Frodo grimaced, but spoke. "I put the Ring on, Strider. I should not have, but I did. And-and I saw them. I saw their pale faces and those terrible eyes. The king stabbed my shoulder, I think."

Strider saw Frodo begin to shiver, despite the roaring fire he lay by. "Merry, Pippin. Take the water you have heated and bathe Frodo's shoulder. Sam, come and help me."

He led Sam over to the pony. "Sam, I think I understand things a little better now."

"What do you mean, beggin' your pardon?" Sam sneaked a look at Frodo, who was apparently dozing again.

"There seem only to have been five of the enemy. Why they were not all here, I don't know; but I don't think they expected to be resisted. They have drawn off for the time being. But not far, I fear. They are only waiting, because they think that their purpose is almost accomplished, and that the Ring cannot fly much further. I fear, Sam, that they believe your master has a deadly wound that will subdue him to their will. We shall see!" He watched as Sam's eyes filled with tears and he choked. "Don't despair! You must trust me now. Your Frodo is made of sterner stuff than I had guessed, though Gandalf hinted that it might prove so. He is not slain, and I think he will resist the evil power of the wound longer than his enemies expect. I will do all I can to help and heal him. Guard him well, while I am away!" He once again slipped into the shadows and left the camp. He had tried to keep the worst details from Sam, but he knew what the wound would do to Frodo. He was amazed that the hobbit was not dead, or even unconscious. But Strider knew that Frodo could not resist forever without help. That was what he was now seeking, _Athelas,_ to cleanse the wound in.

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><p>Strider searched all night for the <em>Athelas<em>. The one stand that he knew of was gone. Well, not exactly gone, but it was trampled, withered, and dead. It would seem that when the Riders left Weathertop, they passed this way. He was forced to cross the Road and search through the thickets. But, at last he found it and returned to the camp. As he entered the dell, he caught his foot on a heavy piece of fabric and he stooped lifting it. "Look!" He cried, pointing out to the hobbits the slash mark in it's hem. "This was the stroke of Frodo's sword, the only hurt that it did to his enemy, I fear; for it is unharmed, but all blades perish that pierce that dreadful king. More deadly to him was the name of Elbereth. And more deadly to Frodo was this." He stooped again and held up a long thin knife. He noted that the end was notched and the point was broken off. He held it up to examine it more closely, but as it entered the sunlight, the blade melted away. Now Strider was sure of what had stabbed the hobbit. He had dared to hope that he was wrong, but only one type of blade would melt away if the light of the Sun should touch it. "Alas. It was this accursed knife that gave the wound. Few now have the skill in healing to match such evil weapons. But I will do what I can."

From the pouch of his belt he withdrew the Athelas leaves. He cast them into the water the hobbits had boiled and bathed Frodo's shoulder. The hobbit relaxed visibly as he worked. Clearly Frodo had been in a considerable amount of pain that was now easing. His companions brought him some breakfast, which he managed to down most of it, giving the rest to Pippin. Strider then lifted Frodo gently and set him on the pony.

They trudged off, slinking across the road to access the cover of the thickets. All that day they walked, stopping only when Frodo began to shiver.

"Sam, I need you to make a fire while I examine Frodo's shoulder." As Strider pulled the hobbit's tunic open, and gently eased aside the bandages, he noticed that the wound was already healing. But it was still so cold to the touch. As he heated water, Sam and the others prepared a supper, but whether due to pain, or whatever else, Frodo showed no interest in food at all.

"No, Sam. I'm sorry, I just couldn't."

Sam looked at Frodo closely. "What's wrong, sir? Do you feel sick?"

"No, just not very hungry. I'm tired, I suppose."

"All right, Mr. Frodo, if you are sure.

Strider frowned to himself. This was not like Frodo. While not as food-centred as Pippin, Frodo was always ready to eat after a long day. They had not even stopped for lunch today, so he had expected all four hobbits to be ravenous. Something Gandalf had said to him years ago came back. '_A Hobbit that does not want to eat is a very ill hobbit indeed."_ Gandalf had said it as though he was jesting, but Aragorn had now begun to wonder if there was some truth to that statement.

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><p>The next it was very much the same, Frodo made a pretence at picking at his breakfast, before he gave it up and distributed it among his companions. He then allowed Strider to bathe and re-bandage his shoulder. Then Merry came and set down by Frodo while the others broke camp.<p>

"How are you doing, Fro?"

Frodo gave a wane smile in response. "It's been years since you called me Fro. Not since you were a child and couldn't pronounce the 'd' in Frodo."

Merry slipped an arm around Frodo's shoulders, careful of the injured one. "I'll never be too old to call you 'Fro'. You _are_ my adopted big brother, remember? I'll never be too old to do _anything_ with you

Strider came back just then, and lifted Frodo onto the pony. Merry watched with a sinking heart. Frodo looked so frail, it was frightening. He had always been so strong: the slender lad that could best all the sturdy others in a brawl, the one that could carry two young hobbits, kicking and screaming, to their naps. Merry was really starting to worry about Frodo, it didn't help that Sam seemed to know something about this illness, but wouldn't say anything. "Closer than a wizard, that one, when he wants to be." Merry muttered.

They walked for several hours when, Frodo began to slide off the pony. Strider sprang back and caught him. Frodo's eyes snapped open. "Oh, I'm sorry. I must have dozed off."

Somehow that worried Merry more than ever: Frodo dozed off? This was from the Frodo that could walk from Hobbiton to Tuckburough and yet dance the night away afterwards. That Frodo didn't doze off in the middle of the day. Even if he was sitting at home, nose buried in a book, he never fell asleep. Something was definitely not right. Merry set his jaw. "I'm going to have to corner Sam or Strider tonight after Frodo is asleep." Merry thought to himself.

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><p>They traveled on late into the evening, stopping only when the stars began to come out. Sam kindled a fire and Strider settled Frodo, wrapped in cloak and blanket, beside it. Frodo dropped off to sleep almost immediately, shivering despite his warm surroundings. Strider took the first watch and Merry, waiting until his cousins and Sam were soundly asleep, made his way over and sat by the ranger.<p>

"Merry, you should be asleep. We have a long day tomorrow."

"Strider, what is happening to Frodo? I've been with him when he was sick before, but this is like nothing I have ever seen."

Strider sighed. "Merry, a Black Rider stabbed Frodo. I think that the knife was poisoned. That is what is making him so sick. That is also why I have been hurrying us along. I have not the skill to heal his wound, but Elrond of Rivendell will know, if anyone does."

"But his hand is so cold!"

"That is just the work of the poison. Now go to sleep, Merry. You need to keep up your strength, for Frodo will need you."

Merry nodded and went back to his bedroll. Sam was sleeping with his back pressed against Frodo to keep him warm and Pippin was on the other side of the wounded hobbit. Merry lay down, back-to-back with Pippin and tried to go to sleep. But it was hard, especially after what Strider had told him.

When the company woke the next morning, the sky had clouded over and was a dull grey. Frodo, after refusing breakfast once again, was lifted onto the pony. Merry watched him slump in the saddle. This worried him: for as long as he could remember, Frodo had been an excellent rider. Folk had commented more than once on his excellent seat. His hunched position was a silent testament to how exhausted he was. They walked and walked, Pippin keeping up a constant stream of conversation in a soft voice, attempting to distract Frodo from his pain.

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	3. Weathertop to Greenway

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><p>"I am sorry, Frodo." Strider washed the wounded shoulder, holding the hobbit gently as he winced.<p>

"That hurts, Strider." Frodo gritted his teeth and Strider frowned.

"How bad is the pain, Frodo?"

The hobbit gave a tight smile. "Oh, I'll manage. The _Athelas_ helps, but it still hurts a bit."

The ranger suspected that it hurt more than 'a bit' But Frodo was struggling to pull himself upright as his face went several degrees paler. Strider lifted him and set him on the pony.

Merry looked back; Weathertop was barely visible. He felt a strange sense of relief for that. The place still terrified him.

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><p>The fifth day from Weathertop, the weary party had come to the end of the thickets and looked down on a river.<p>

"I'm afraid we must go back to the Road here for a while," said Strider. "We have now come to the River Hoarwell, that the Elves call Mitheithel. It flows down out of the Ettenmoors, the troll-fells north of Rivendell, and joins the Loudwater away in the South. Some call it the Greyflood after that. It is a great water before it finds the Sea. There is no way over it below its sources in the Ettenmoors, except by the Last Bridge on which the Road crosses."

"What is that other river we can see far away there?" asked Merry.

"That is Loudwater, the Bruinen of Rivendell," answered Strider. "The Road runs along the edge of the hills for many miles from the Bridge to the Ford of Bruinen. But I have not yet thought how we shall cross that water. One river at a time! We shall be fortunate indeed if we do not find the Last Bridge held against us."

Pippin, irrepressible as usual began to chatter. I've never seen a river so wide. Even the Brandywine isn't this, er, how to describe it?"

"Broad perhaps you mean, cousin?"

Everyone turned around and stared at Frodo who was looking at Pippin with a fond smile. A smile that actually reached his eyes, turning them a warm shade of brown

"Y-yes," said Pippin, overjoyed to see Frodo looking a little better.

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><p>"Good morning, Frodo! How are you doing?" Pippin sat down by his cousin's awakening form.<p>

Frodo blinked cloudy eyes and grimaced. "Why are you so cheerful, Pippin?"

"Because Strider caught a couple of rabbits and we can have a hot breakfast. I hope you're up to eating some."

Frodo struggled to sit up, wincing as his shoulder was jostled. "I'll try, Pip. I don't know if I can, though. I'm really not hungry."

Pippin forced a grin on his face. "I'll eat your share, if you can't. But I want you to try, cousin. You're getting too thin for our liking."

Frodo looked at the Took. "I thought it was good for me, Pippin."

_"Not this much."_ Thought Pippin, but aloud he said. "Moderation, dear Frodo. We don't want to wake up one morning to see a wraith in our midst."

Merry paled at those words, and would have scolded Pippin, except for the fact that Frodo gave a slight chuckle. "Well, I must agree. I'll promise you this, Pip. I will try to never become a wraith."

Sam choked and looked intently into his cooking pot. Strider marvelled at Frodo's strength. Here he was, wounded with a Morgul knife, yet smiling and jesting weakly.

Strider settled Frodo against a rock and Sam brought him a plate of food. To his credit, Frodo did try. He managed to swallow most of the food, before he gave up. "Here, Pip." Frodo called. "You can have what's left. I don't want to waste it, but I've had my fill."

Pippin looked at Merry for permission, before taking Frodo's plate and polishing off the remaining stew. Then Strider settled Frodo on the pony while the others broke camp.

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><p>They came to the border of the road and went forward cautiously. Strider steadied the dirt for tracks. There had, it seemed, been a rain two days before that had washed away all tracks. No horses had passed that way since. Strider left the hobbits at the edge of the bridge in the thicket and went across himself to explore. As he was coming back to where his charges were hid, he spotted something in the mud. A small, pale-green jewel was stuck in the mud. It looked like the jewels set in elven bridles. One bridle in particular, he could remember seeing the lovely gems in. He picked it up and returned to the hobbits. "I can see no sign of the enemy and I wonder very much what that means. But I have found something very strange." He held out the beryl, noting that Sam's eyes widened in wonder at the sight of the elven-jewel.<p>

Frodo looked at it in interest, his gaze straying to Sam's shining eyes with a fond look.

They went cautiously across the bridge, tensely listening for the sound of hooves. Every minute, the hobbits felt the hair on the backs of their necks prickling as though they were being watched, but they reached the other side without incident.

Merry looked at Sam with a smile. The poor Gamgee was sweating despite the cool breeze, and Merry suspected that it was from more than a mere sense of watchfulness. Sam had never liked the water; he didn't even trust the Bucklebury Ferry. In fact, Merry suspected that it was only his loyalty and concern for Frodo that spurred him onto this sturdy, but narrow bridge.

A mile further on, they came to a narrow ravine that led away northwards through the steep lands on the left side of the Road. Here Strider turned aside and they were soon lost in a sombre country of dark trees winding among the feet of sullen hills.

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><p>Two days after they crossed the Last Bridge, the group was picking its way through a pathless country encumbered by fallen trees and tumbled rocks. It was raining and cold. Merry thought that Strider looked concerned: their stock of provisions was beginning to run low. They were ten days out from Weathertop. Merry looked at Frodo, "He's so pale." He thought to himself. Frodo had always had a fair complexion, but he had also always been tanned to a warm, honey brown. Now, his face was white, with a little blue in his lips. Merry had accidentally brushed against Frodo's left hand while helping him to sit up this morning. The hobbit shuddered as he remembered how icy cold it was.<p>

They climbed to a rock ledge that had a slight cave behind it and stopped. "Merry, Pippin, gather some firewood." Strider lifted Frodo's light frame from the pony, removing the hobbit's sodden cloak as he did so. It was dangerous to light a fire, but it was even more dangerous to let Frodo remain so cold. The Morgul poison would work, no matter what. But it could take hold in a chilled, exhausted body faster. Frodo's eyes dragged open as the ranger wrapped him in a blanket.

"How ever did you manage to keep these dry?" He asked.

"Oilcloth. I wrapped all our blankets in oilcloth. No ranger goes on a trip with out some of that to keep his garments and wraps dry in the event of a storm."

He satisfied himself that Frodo was comfortable and walked over to where Merry and Pippin were attempting to light a fire. But the wood was wet and they were not having much success. Strider himself could not get a spark to catch, and they had almost despaired of a warm fire when Sam, who had gone to check on his master came back with a load of dry bracken, leaves, and twigs that had apparently blown into the cave. With that to use as kindling, they managed to start a small blaze and dried their cloaks by it. Sam instantly unpacked his cooking gear and some dried meat and began to make a stew. Then he produced something that was greeted with soft cheers from his fellow hobbits: a leather pouch that contained a small amount of tea.

"Plenty of water 'round here." The gardener said with a wry smile. He sat one of his pots outside their cave to catch the rainwater. He made some tea and spared a bit of his dwindling supply of sugar to sweeten the drink. He then proceeded to try and coax some stew into Frodo. The wounded hobbit accepted the tea a little more willingly, for it helped to warm him some.

"Frodo." The hobbit looked up at Strider. "I need to see your shoulder."

Frodo sighed and nodded, lying back to allow the ranger access to the bandages. When Strider unbound them, he discovered that the wound was completely closed. The only thing to see was a cold, white mark on his shoulder. It seemed, if that were possible to be even colder than Frodo's left arm and side. Merry and Sam paled when they saw it: it looked so unnatural.

"What's wrong, Mer?" Pippin tried to look at Frodo, but Merry held him back.

"The wound on his shoulder is closed, Pippin."

"Well, that's a good thing, right?"

"I hope so, Pip, I hope so."

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><p>"Strider, the wound on Frodo's shoulder is closed."<p>

Strider looked down at Merry. "I know, that does tend to happen"

The Brandybuck set his jaw. "Look, I saw that wound when he first got it and it was very bad. My uncle got a cut once that was rather smaller than this one, but it took longer than this to close. Something isn't right here."

Strider looked to Sam for help, but the gardener was sitting by Frodo, stroking his hand and trying to ease him into sleep. The ranger sighed and turned back to Merry. "You are right, Merry. Something isn't right. This is no ordinary wound. I take it Sam has told you what he knows?" When the hobbit nodded, Strider went on. "It was an evil knife that struck him. I think that a piece of the knife has broken off inside the wound. The magic that it is in it causes the wound to close, thus preventing anyone from probing the wound and removing the splinter. It is impossible to get at it without surgical supplies. That is why we are hurrying to get to Rivendell. Lord Elrond can help Frodo if anyone can."

Merry shuddered and drew closer to the meagre fire. Strider looked at him in sympathy. "Lie down, Merry. You need to sleep."

Strider kept watch over the camp all night. He saw when Frodo sat up with a jerk, looking wildly around. He heard when the wounded hobbit muttered in his sleep.

The next day, they were struggling up a stony ridge; the rain had made it slippery and treacherous. The pony struggled up the incline. "Come on, lad." Muttered Sam, "up you go."

"Wait, Sam." Frodo slipped off the pony's back. "I think I can manage to walk for a while."

"But, sir. This here hill requires climbing, not walking, and you may fall!"

"I far prefer falling while standing than falling from a pony's back, Sam. Don't worry about me, I'll be all right."

But that evening when they finally reached the top, it seemed that Frodo wasn't all right. He threw himself to the ground and lay there, shivering. Merry went over to Strider.

"We cannot go any further," he said. "I am afraid this has been too much for Frodo. I am terribly anxious about him. You do think they will be able to cure him in Rivendell, if we ever get there?"

"We shall see," answered Strider. "There is nothing more I can do in the wilderness; and it is chiefly because of his wound that I am so anxious to press on. But I agree that we can go no further tonight."

"What is the matter with my master?" asked Sam. "His wound was small, and it is already closed. There's nothing to be seen but a cold, white mark on his shoulder."

Strider sighed. "Frodo has been touched by the weapons of the Enemy and there is some poison or evil that is beyond my skill to drive out. But do not give up hope, Sam!"

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	4. Greenway to Trollshaws

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><p>The next morning dawned bright and fair; the air was clean, and the light pale and clear in a rain-washed sky. Everyone felt better, though they longed for the sun to warm them. Strider took Merry with him and went to survey the country from the height to the east of the pass.<p>

"We seem to be going on more or right in the right direction." The ranger said to the hobbit.

"What is that river over there, Strider?" Merry asked.

Strider was surprised that the hobbit could see the river. He himself could just barely make out the glimmer of the water. That is the Loudwater, Merry. The Bruinen of Rivendell."

"Oh," said Merry as they went back to the others.

Strider spoke to the hobbits as they ate breakfast. "We must make for the Road again. We cannot hope to find a path through these hills. Whatever danger may beset it, the Road is our only way to the Ford."

"Well," said Sam as he stood up. "Let's get going. It is the job that is never started that takes longest to finish."

They climbed slowly down the southern side of the ridge. Much to Sam's relief, Frodo was soon able to ride again. "Now then, Bill," he said. "Don't you go throwing Mr. Frodo off now."

"Who's Bill, Sam?"

"Oh, it's this pony, Mr. Frodo. I named him after his old master. I was just telling him to make sure that he doesn't jostle you too much or let you fall."

"Don't worry about me, Sam. 'Bill' seems to have developed an unexpected talent for picking out the best path. And for sparing me any unwanted jolts."

Pippin was a little ahead of the others. Suddenly he turned round and called to them. "There is a path here!" he cried.

When the others came up to him, they found a narrow, winding track that led into the woods, growing wider as it went. They followed the track until it turned sharply to the left. They looked around the corner and found a large, stone door, half open. Strider and Merry went in. "Ugh! It's disgusting!" Merry's voice echoed.

Pippin went to the door. What's wrong, Mer?"

"Bones all over the floor, Pip. And not animal bones, either."

"Surely this is a troll-hole, if ever there was one!" said Pippin. "Come out, you two, and let us get away. Now we know who made the path – and we had better get off it quick."

"There is no need, I think," said Strider, coming out. "It is certainly a troll-hole, but it seems to have been long forsaken. I don't think we need be afraid. But let us go on down warily, and we shall see."

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><p>They went on down the path, Merry and Pippin hurrying ahead, Strider and Sam walking behind with Frodo and the pony. They had not been walking long when Merry and Pippin came running back; both scared out of their wits.<p>

"There _are_ trolls!" Pippin panted. "Down in a clearing in the woods not far below. We got a sight of them through the tree-trunks. They are very large!"

"We will come and look at them," said Strider, picking up a stick. Frodo said nothing, but Sam looked scared.

"I don't know about this, Mr. Frodo. All my life, I've heard fireside tales about trolls and none of 'em were too complimentary!"

They reached the clearing where the trolls were. The hobbits all held back while Strider walked nonchalantly up to the tallest of the figures, which was stooped over. "Get up you old stone!" he said and broke his stick over the troll's backside.

There was a stunned silence, a gasp of surprise from the hobbits, and then, a laugh from Frodo. "Well! We are forgetting our family history! These must be the very three that were caught by Gandalf, quarreling over the right way to cook thirteen dwarves and one hobbit."

"I had no idea we were anywhere near the place." Said Pippin rather sheepishly, for he knew that story quite well.

"You are not only forgetting your family history, but all you ever knew about trolls," said Strider. "It is broad daylight with a bright sun, and yet you come back trying to scare me with a tale of live trolls waiting for us in this glade!" He offered a rare smile. "In any case you might have noticed that one of them has an old bird's nest behind his ear. That would be a most unusual ornament for a live troll!"

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><p>The little group rested and had their luncheon under the shade of the trolls. Merry noticed that Frodo seemed to have a little more colour in his face and his appetite was better. Strider had settled him against one of the troll's legs, where the sun was warm.<p>

"Won't somebody give us a bit of a song, while the sun is high?" Merry asked, when all had finished eating. "We haven't had a song or a tale for days."

"Not since Weathertop." Came Frodo's voice. Merry looked at him in alarm, he was half afraid that even mentioning that name would make Frodo worse. Frodo caught his gaze and smiled. "Don't worry about me! I feel much better, but I don't think I could sing. Perhaps Sam could dig something out of his memory."

"Come on, Sam!" said Merry. "There's more stored in your head than you let on about." He thought back to the Conspiracy. Oh yes, Sam knew a lot more than anyone thought.

Sam, modest as ever blushed. "I don't know about that. But how would this suit? It ain't what I call proper poetry, if you understand me: just a bit of nonsense. But these old images here brought it to my mind." He stood up; hands clasped behind his back, as was his habit, and began.

_"Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,_

_ And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;_

_ For many a year he had gnawed it near,_

_ For meat was hard to come by,_

_ Done by! Gum by!_

_ In a cave in the hills he dwelt alone,_

_ And meat was hard to come by._

_ Up came Tom…"_

As Sam sang, Merry watched Frodo's eyes light up in a way that he hadn't seen since Weathertop. Merry stole a look at Pippin, who, mouth open, was staring at Sam. Merry chuckled to himself: the song was a rather comical one, about a body named Tom who made the mistake of kicking a troll in the pants, only to discover that morning had come and the troll had turned to stone. Sam finished his song and bowed. Merry stood up, clapping. "Well, that's a warning to us all!" he laughed. "It is as well that you used a stick and not your hand, Strider!"

"Where did you come by that, Sam?" asked Pippin. "I've never heard those words before."

Sam went beet red and muttered inaudibly. "It's out of his own head, of course." Said Frodo, "I am learning a lot about Sam Gamgee on this journey. First he was a conspirator, now he's a jester. He'll end up by becoming a wizard – or a warrior!"

"I hope not," said Sam. "I don't want to be neither!"

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><p>It was evening when the travelers made it to the road. All was quiet as they came on to the long, brown ribbon. They walked until it was twilight, then began looking for a place to camp that was off the road. They had just discovered a small hollow, fenced by tall trees, when they heard it: horses hooves coming up behind. They scrambled off the road, looking back and seeing nothing. They took refuge in a hazel thicket and waited. The sound of hooves drew nearer. They were going fast, with a light <em>clippety<em>-_clippety_-_clip_. Then, faintly, they heard the sound of bells.

"That does not sound like a Black Rider's horse!" said Frodo, looking hopeful. Strider was leaning forward, stooped to the ground, with a hand to his ear, and a look of joy on his face. The sound came nearer and nearer. And then, a figure trotted into sight. He was tall and strong looking, with a head of golden hair. He rode a large, white horse. The horse's headstall was set with beryls and his bridal was fitted with tiny, silver bells.

He reined his horse to a stop and looked up towards the bushes where they were hidden. Strider burst out, leaping through the heather towards him. At the same moment, the rider swiftly dismounted and was racing towards the ranger, calling out: _"Ai na vedui Dunadan! Mae govannen!" _His clear speech and ringing tone left no doubt in their hearts: the rider was of the Elven-folk. No others that dwelt in the wide world had voices so fair to hear. Now the elf was speaking urgently to Strider, who motioned the hobbits to come out of hiding. When they reached the road, he turned to them.

"This is Glorfindel, who dwells in the house of Elrond."

_"Elen sila lumen omentielvo,"_ said Frodo.

"Hail, and well met at last!" said the Elf-lord to Frodo. "I was sent from Rivendell to look for you. We feared that you were in danger upon the road."

"Ah, then Gandalf had reached Rivendell?" said Frodo.

"No. He had not when I departed; but that was nine days ago," answered Glorfindel. "Elrond received news that troubled him. Some of my kindred, journeying in your land beyond the Baranduin, learned that things were amiss, and sent messangers as swiftly as they could. They said that the Nine were abroad, and Gandalf had not returned. There are few even in Rivendell that can ride openly against the Nine; but such as there were, Elrond sent out north, west, and south. It was thought that you might turn far aside to avoid pursuit, and become lost in the Wilderness. It was my lot to take the Road, and I came to the Bridge of Mitheithel, and left a token there, nigh on seven days ago. Three of the servants of Sauron were upon the Bridge, but they withdrew and I pursued them westward. I came also upon two others, but they turned away southward. Since then I have searched for your trail. Two days ago I found in, and followed it over the Bridge; and today I marked where you descended from the hills again. But come! There is no time for further news. Since you are here we must risk the peril of the Road and go. There are five behind us, and when they find your trail upon the Road they will ride after us like the wind. And they are not all. Where the other four may be, I do not know. I fear that we may find the Ford is already held against us."

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><p>Frodo had been standing next to the pony, but now he swayed, clutching at Sam to keep his balance. The little gardener turned to Glorfindel. "My master is sick and wounded." He sounded angry. "He can't go on riding after nightfall. He needs rest."<p>

Glorfindel caught Frodo as he sank to the ground and lifted him gently. "What happened to him, Estel?"

"We were attacked by five of the Nine on Weathertop and Frodo received a Morgul wound to his shoulder."

"How long ago did this happen?" Glorfindel looked into Frodo's white face in concern.

"It is almost a fortnight since he was stabbed. We have been trying to get to Rivendell."

Glorfindel shook his head. "Are you certain that it was a Morgul knife?"

"Yes. It melted as soon as the sunlight touched it. And the hobbit's wound is already closed tightly; there is only cold, white mark upon his shoulder. Here, I saved the hilt." Strider drew out the hilt and handed it to Glorfindel. The elf shuddered as he looked at it and said,

"There are evil things written on this hilt, though maybe your eyes cannot see them. Keep it, Aragorn, till we reach the house of Elrond! But be wary, and handle it as little as you may! Alas! The wounds of this weapon are beyond my skill to heal. I will do what I can – but all the more do I urge you now to go on without rest."

He laid his fingers on Frodo's shoulder and murmured words of healing. Even as he spoke, they could see Frodo's eyes clear and a bit of colour come back into his face. He sat up a little straighter in the elf's arms and Glorfindel said. "You shall ride my horse. I will shorten the stirrups up to the saddle-skirts, and you must sit as tight as you can. But you need not fear: my horse will not let any rider fall that I command him to bear. His pace is light and smooth; and if danger presses too near, he will bear you away with a speed that even the black steeds of the enemy cannot rival."

"No he will not!" said Frodo firmly; "I shall not ride him, if I am to be carried off to Rivendell or anywhere else, leaving my friends behind in danger."

Glorfindel smiled "I doubt very much if your friends would be in danger if you were not with them! It is you, Frodo, and that which you bear that brings us all in peril."

To that Frodo had no answer; he was persuaded to mount Glorfindel's white horse. The pony was laden instead with a great part of the other's gear, so that they now marched lighter, and for a time made good speed; but the hobbits began to find it hard to keep up with the swift tireless feet of the Elf. On he led them, onto the mouth of darkness, and still on under the deep clouded night. There was neither star nor moon. Not until the grey of dawn did he allow them to halt. Merry, Pippin, and Sam cast themselves into the heather and immediately fell asleep. Strider lifted Frodo's sleeping form from the horse and laid him by his companions.

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><p><strong>Reviews are always appreciated! :)<strong>


	5. Trollshaws to Bruinen

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><p>"They look perfectly exhausted."<p>

"Yes. It is a mark of how tired Pippin is that he didn't even bother to tease for some supper."

Glorfindel laughed softly. "It would seem that a keen appetite is a trait shared by all these Perraniath. I thought it was just one of Bilbo's quirks."

Aragorn groaned as he slowly sat down. "Oh, you don't know the last of it. Good old Bilbo…" Glorfindel looked over at his friend's sleeping face with a fond smile. He had known Aragorn as a small child and had watched him grow up. "I suppose you haven't slept at all for almost a week, mellon nin. That's just the way you are, always looking out for others with barely a thought for yourself. And it is a mark of how tire _you _are that you didn't even bother to unsheathe that knife of yours before you fell asleep."

Glorfindel set himself to watch and woke them before they had slept long. He watched the hobbit Sam stagger to his feet and rouse his master, who moaned. They wouldn't make a mile like this. Glorfindel reached into his saddlebag and retrieved the small flask of _miruvor._ "Drink this!" he said to the hobbits, and gave each of them a sip. He also saw to it that Aragorn swallowed some of the cordial. Ranger or no, he wouldn't be able to keep on going for much longer. After that, all the travelers seemed to feel some better. Aragorn smiled grimly as he watched Sam try and coax some food into his master.

"Frodo must be feeling better, if he is able to match wills with Sam!" he muttered to Glorfindel.

Their guides let the hobbits rest for an hour before setting off again. Glorfindel, though he felt pity for his exhausted charges, still pressed them to hurry on. He could see, what, perhaps they could not: how Frodo seemed to fade more with every passing hour. He avoided speaking of the wounded hobbit's condition in the other's hearing, but instead conversed with Aragorn in the Elven-tongue. When the hobbits began to stagger with weariness, though, Glorfindel decided that it was time to stop: they already had one ill hobbit on their hands, they did not need any more. Also, Aragorn had told him that Frodo tended to think more about his companions than his own health and safety. It could be disastrous if the wounded hobbit worried himself sick over the others. No, it was better to lose a few hours and let them rest.

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><p>The hobbits were still weary, when they set out again early next morning. There were many miles yet to go between them and the Ford, and they hobbled forward at the best pace they could manage.<p>

"Our peril will be greatest just ere we reach the river," said Glorfindel; "for my heart warns me that the pursuit is now swift behind is, and other danger may be waiting by the Ford."

Pippin stumbled over a stone and groaned, Frodo roused from his stupor and looked at his cousin in concern. Merry slid an arm around Pippin's slumped shoulders to help him along. "Here, Pip. Let's walk in the grass along the road. Much easier on one's feet."

Merry, Pippin, and Sam went to the edge of the road, to the soft grass. They seemed to get along better after that, though they were no longer speaking. Strider surmised that they were much too drained to even form words. In the late afternoon they came to a place where the Road went suddenly under the dark shadow of tall trees, and then plunged into a deep cutting. Echoes ran along as they hurried forward; and there seemed to be a sound of many footfalls following their own. All at once, as it through a gate of light, the Road ran out again from the end of the tunnel into the open. There was still an echo as of following feet in the cutting behind them; a rushing noise as if a wind was rising. One moment Glorfindel turned and listened, then he sprang forward with a loud cry. "Fly! Fly! The enemy is upon us!"

The white horse leaped forward as the others ran down the slope. They were halfway across the flat when suddenly there was a noise of horses galloping. Out of the gate in the trees that they had just left rode a Black Rider. He reined his horse in and halted. Another followed him, and then another; then two more.

"Ride forward! Ride!" cried Glorfindel to Frodo.

But the hobbit checked his mount to a stop and looked back. His eyes were unfocused as he stared at the Black Riders. As long as Merry lived, he would never forget that look. Suddenly something in Frodo's eyes snapped and he slowly drew his sword.

"Ride on! Ride on!" cried Glorfindel, and then he called to the horse in the elf-tongue: "_noro lim, noro lim, Asfaloth!"_

The great white horse sprang away and sped like the wind along the last lap of the Road, with the five riders behind it. The others in the party sprang aside to avoid being trampled. Strider held back Pippin as he sought to follow them. "Let me go!" bellowed the Took. "I have to help Frodo!"

"Peregrin!" shouted Strider. "Nothing we do can help Frodo now. Asfaloth is our only hope."

"But" said Glorfindel, urgently taking the hobbit's hand. "We can help, in our own way. Elrond will send a flood if any of the Riders set foot or hoof into the river once Frodo is across. We may have to deal with those left on our side of the water. Come now, help me kindle a fire."

As long as he lived, Merry was never sure just how the next few moments passed. The only thing he remembered clearly was seeing the water go down and Asfaloth, now riderless, on the opposite bank.

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><p><strong>The End<strong>


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